


reap and sow

by beecalm



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (mostly) Canon Compliant, Elements of magical realism, Introspection, M/M, Mild Angst, Post-Timeskip, rice farming with feelings on the side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 09:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24967225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beecalm/pseuds/beecalm
Summary: “No, it won’t.” He reassures, because it’s said that Kita Shinsuke can control the weather, and that the hills are a land where sleeping deities lie.Atsumu stares like he’s going through a spiritual awakening, or something equally as mortifying. Within twenty minutes, there’s not a cloud in sight.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 38
Kudos: 274





	reap and sow

**Author's Note:**

> this reads like a bad indie movie (all vibes, no plot)

Shinsuke is under the sudden, distinct impression that his eyesight may be failing him at the tender age of twenty four- because Miya Atsumu, not Miya Osamu, is standing at his doorstep with an overnight bag thrown over one shoulder and a lazy grin on his face. He begins to wonder if he emailed the wrong Miya twin by mistake, and makes a note to book himself in for an eye test next time he takes a trip closer to civilization. 

“‘Samu sent me ‘cause he was busy.” Atsumu then explains, and though his voice curls around his brother’s name in some sort of familial displeasure, he really doesn’t look all that mad about it. It’s an odd look- a blend of  _ I’d rather be playing volleyball  _ and  _ it’s good to see you again _ all tangled up in the back of his eyes and in the place where the corners of his mouth quirk up slightly. It’s the off-season, and there’s not all that much volleyball to play, so Shinsuke supposes Atsumu must be leaning more towards the latter. 

Shinsuke had expected Osamu- he already knows his way around the workings of the farm, so whenever he needs an extra pair of hands to help out, then he’s always Shinsuke’s first port of call. It’s part of their agreement; Osamu helps out on the farm from time to time, Shinsuke sends an extra bag of rice or two his way. Mutual exchange, or something of the likes. 

Atsumu, feet laced into a pair of white trainers that won’t stay white for long, will be a change of pace at least.

“And you agreed to help him?” Shinsuke asks, because although the answer is clearly  _ yes,  _ on account of the fact that Atsumu is here, slipping off his shoes and stepping into the hallway, it’s amusing to see the way he frowns at the question.

Atsumu grumbles something about a cashed in favour and a broken vase, and Shinsuke decides not to probe further. He’s unwilling to invite a tangent before they’ve even made it into the kitchen. 

Were things as simple as Shinsuke liked them to be, he’d just be glad to see Atsumu again- an old teammate, albeit one that was  _ exactly  _ as much trouble as he was worth.

But there are some things that even Shinsuke would hesitate to mention out loud. One of those things being the fact that, on the last day before graduation, Atsumu had cornered Shinsuke in the back of the Inarizaki High gymnasium, and asked if he would date him. 

In typical Miya Atsumu style, it had been tactless, brash and more than a little endearing. In typical Miya Atsumu style, Osamu laughing at his brother’s expense at the other end of the gym had come as part of the package deal. In typical Miya Atsumu style, he put his whole stubborn heart into it. 

The confession was not the issue- if that were the case, Shinsuke thinks it would have just become something to laugh about over dinner, years down the line. The  _ issue _ was that, for some inexplicable reason, Shinsuke had wanted to say yes. 

Shinsuke picks up Atsumu’s trainers from the floor and slides them into the shoe rack only a foot beside them, because he’s forever relegated himself to the role of managing Atsumu’s messes. Even now that he’s no longer captain, and Atsumu is no longer his responsibility. 

Old habits die hard, or so it’s said.

Of course, they’ve seen each other since that afternoon before graduation day. But seeing each other for drinks with other Inarizaki alumni, or by coincidence when Atsumu is snacking away in the corner of the Onigiri Miya store is one thing. Coexisting in the same house, until Agatsuma-san recovers from his flu and can return to work, is another prospect entirely. 

“You can sit down, y’know.” He says instead of dwelling on such things, because Atsumu is still milling around the middle of his kitchen, and he’s getting in the way of Shinsuke’s path towards the kettle. He hopes Atsumu still likes green tea. 

“Right, ‘course.” Atsumu responds, and Shinsuke can feel him staring. There’s a specific way in which Atsumu watches things he’s interested in- the opposing team’s setter, Osamu’s lunch left unattended in the locker room, Shinsuke’s back as he fills the kettle at the sink. It’s intense and it’s  _ hungry,  _ and Shinsuke just about has the level of restraint required to ignore it entirely.

Atsumu never used to stare at him like that back in highschool. Shinsuke feels something shift. 

Shinsuke doesn’t believe in fate too strongly- he has crafted most things in his life with his own two hands, through repetition and perseverance.  _ Still _ , Shinsuke thinks, if fate underpins his actions, then it must be working against him. 

The Gods are always watching- his granny had told him, sweeping leaves from the doorway at the same time each morning. The Gods are watching- and Miya Atsumu is too. Shinsuke isn’t sure which he should be more afraid of. 

He pours the tea and Astumu still thanks him in the same way he used to; a little formal, a little reverent. Partly out of a desire to appear respectful, but more so out of not wanting to be told off. Like he’s not a grown adult with a career and a paycheck. 

“You still like green tea.” Shinsuke notes when Atsumu sighs into his cup.

“You’re still scarily observant.” He responds, dropping some of the formalities in favour of a lazy, familiar grin. Shinsuke thinks, if he didn’t observe the little pieces that make up a person’s whole, then he wouldn’t like Atsumu half as much. It’s no secret that the sum of Atsumu’s parts is one larger-than-life, intolerable bastard. It’s also no secret that Shinsuke would send him care packages when he got ill due to his own stubbornness anyway. 

He doesn’t tell Atsumu any of this- because he’s still sitting across the table, and he’s still staring hard enough to burn. Shinsuke wonders if he even knows he’s doing it. 

“You’re staring.” He says, straight to the point. Something is always watching him, and this time, he knows its name is Miya Atsumu. 

In some uncharacteristic display of self-awareness, Atsumu tells him that it’s kinda hard not to.

-

It’s almost evening, so they exercise old habits and sit on the steps around the back of the house, like the volleyball team from years ago used to perch by the gym doors. Foxes in red jackets, guarding their domain. The house is an old one- its joints creak when it’s windy, and it’s a little too cold come winter-time, but it’s cheap and it’s practical. With both the farm and his granny’s place at the foot of the hills within walking distance, it’s well worth the occasional leaky ceiling or chilly night.

Atsumu is snacking on a pack of butter cookies from his bag despite the fact that they’ve just eaten, and he makes a noise of displeasure like he’s never seen an insect before each time one tries to land on his wrist. 

“It looks like it’s gonna rain.” Atsumu comments, as clouds roll across the sky and turn the sunset into a dull glow nestled against the horizon.

“It won’t.” Shinsuke tells him with certainty. Tomorrow is a harvest day. It never rains on harvest days.

After all, it’s said that Kita Shinsuke can control the weather. 

It’s also said that crops grown in this area will always be fruitful, and that the hills are a land where sleeping deities lie. Rumours and tales passed around to get through the long, sun-soaked days in the fields. Shinsuke performs his routine for nobody but himself- hard work and persistence are simply what keep him moving. He doesn’t seek praise or recognition, just to live out his days in the way he thinks is  _ correct.  _

Still, it’s comforting to know that, maybe, something out there does notice. 

It never rains on harvest days. His crops rarely wither under bad weather. He sees things move between the trees, just out of sight. And Shinsuke doesn’t dwell on it, because he wouldn’t be himself if he let his diligence slip for even a second. 

His granny always says that the Gods are on his side. Shinsuke stares across to where Atsumu reclines on the stairs as if he owns them, and decides that they’re most definitely not.

Atsumu pulls out his phone like he’s trying to make a point, only to mutter about bad signal under his breath in a way that almost makes Shinsuke smile. He’s not sure if he himself has grown up too much, or if Atsumu just hasn’t changed at all. “The forecast still says it’s gonna bucket it down all day, though.” He says eventually, holding up a screenful of the local weather report. 

Shinsuke doesn’t mind who witnesses his habits, or what they think. So he claps his hands together like he’s giving thanks for a meal, lets the sound ring into the storm-heavy air, and knows that it’s not just Atsumu watching him from across the crumbling stone steps. 

“No, it won’t.” He reassures, because it’s said that Kita Shinsuke can control the weather, and that the hills are a land where sleeping deities lie. 

Atsumu stares like he’s going through a spiritual awakening, or something equally as mortifying. Within twenty minutes, there’s not a cloud in sight.

-

Atsumu is sitting on the kitchen counter, which is decidedly a very bad thing- because Shinsuke has an alarm set for 4AM and absolutely no intention of letting Atsumu sleep in a minute longer. There’s clearly some stubborn remainder of Shinsuke’s time as captain running in his blood, like a long lasting antibody to Atsumu’s bad moods- because he can tell right away that there’s something bothering him.

As a captain, it was always his role to read his team like an open book. To know exactly what makes them tick, because otherwise they’d barely make it onto the team bus without a casualty. As a repeat offender, Shinsuke thinks he can still understand Atsumu better than most.

“I’m telling ya now, you’re gonna be too tired to work tomorrow if you stay up.” Shinsuke cautions. Atsumu jumps in surprise, and makes a noise which sounds distinctly like he’s swallowed his own tongue. 

“Fuckin’ dammit- don’t sneak around like that!” He slides down the countertop as he speaks, as if he doesn’t have a single bone left in his body, and Shinsuke can’t exactly say that he missed the dramatics. Training camps were always the same- Shinsuke would find Atsumu sat awake, because some days it felt like his brain only kicked into action once it got dark, and it’d be Shinsuke’s responsibility to stop him from falling asleep in the mess hall or somewhere else inconvenient. This time though, there’s no team, sleeping away in the other room. This time, it’s just Atsumu, and the moths fluttering around the kitchen ceiling.

“I can hear you overthinkin’ from all the way over here.” Shinsuke steps fully into the kitchen, and Atsumu at least has the decency to look guilty. 

“Can I ask you somethin’? It’s real important, so don’t laugh,” Atsumu asks eventually, feet not quite touching the floor, and Shinsuke feels something close to dread curling in the pit of his stomach. Because Atsumu is staring at him in that ravenous sort of way, like he just can’t wait to sink his teeth in, and Shinsuke doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He nods. Atsumu continues. “Back in highschool, on the last day before graduation- why’d you say no?”

Shinsuke should have seen it coming a mile away.

“I told you back then.” He responds, as simply as he had explained it all those years ago- no need for sugar-coating. Why waste time cushioning a fall that would hurt just as bad either way? A rejection is a rejection- it’d be damn painful no matter how careful the phrasing. 

“You told me that I’d forget all about it in a year at most.” Atsumu echoes, and his face twists up in a near perfect mirror of the way it did all that time ago. Shinsuke had indeed told him as such, simple and honest, no excess words or wasted sympathy.

(This is Miya Atsumu, who takes the world in stride and leaves no room for anyone else to catch up. This is Miya Atsumu, who lives life like a kid on Christmas morning who discovered the present that he wanted has his twin brother’s name written on it. Bitter, childish, unpredictable. Everything Shinsuke does not need.)

“You’ve never committed to anything for very long, aside from volleyball and drivin’ your brother up the wall,” Shinsuke explains. “You got a crush on your senior- it happens. Youd’ve gotten over it quick.” 

Atsumu leans against the countertop, face set into a sort of determination that Shinsuke thought was reserved for the volleyball court. “What if I never got over it?” He pushes.

It’s an undeniable truth that Atsumu’s stubbornness is one of his worst traits.

Shinsuke stares back with certainty. “Then you will soon.” 

(If Shinsuke were more self-serving, he would tell Atsumu he doesn’t want him to.) 

It’s not that Shinsuke thinks Atsumu is incapable of  _ loving _ . He just thinks that Atsumu’s specific brand of affection is one that is not built to last. Shinsuke likes routine and he likes simplicity- sturdy foundations that will underpin his footsteps for the rest of his days. Atsumu is armed with a sledgehammer and a wicked grin, and Shinsuke doesn’t want to know what will happen if he gets within swinging distance. 

“When are you gonna start treatin’ me like an adult?” It’s clear that Shinsuke has hit a nerve, from the way that Atsumu grips the edge of the countertop white-knuckled.

“When you start actin’ like one.” When Shinsuke speaks, his voice is slow and measured- it’s late, they need to be awake early, and de-escalating a conflict is hardly top of his priorities. 

Atsumu sighs like he’s giving up for the first time in his life, but the look in his eyes as he slopes past Shinsuke says  _ just you wait. _ (Shinsuke thinks he would have been concerned, had Atsumu just left it at that.)

Still, Shinsuke hopes that whatever it is can wait till the morning.

-

To Shinsuke, waking up early, before the sun has risen in the sky and the birds are still quiet in the trees, is a pleasant experience. Atsumu clearly disagrees, slumping into the kitchen, tripping over his own feet and almost pouring boiling water over his hands in the process of making himself a cup of coffee. 

“And I thought early mornin’ training sessions were brutal.” He complains, before burning his tongue on his drink. Through the windows, the sky is cloudless and the dawn is beginning to break, casting a gentle light over the hilltops. Shinsuke doesn’t respond to Atsumu’s complaints, busy sweeping the kitchen floor till it’s spotless, a piece of routine which he carries out every morning without fail. It’s almost ritualistic- ingrained into his behaviour as he works around the place where Atsumu stands swaying like he’s fallen asleep upright in the middle of the kitchen.

Shinsuke prods him with the broom handle. “Go and get dressed- the walk to the farm will soon wake you up.” 

He’s glad that Atsumu seems too preoccupied by the effort of staying awake to bring up the conversation in the kitchen the previous night. There’s rice to harvest and a long day of work ahead- the Miya Atsumu that behaves like a petulant child when proven incorrect is not one which Shinsuke wants to deal with. 

Atsumu leaves his half-empty coffee cup on the countertop. Shinsuke clears it away for him like it’s second nature. 

In Shinsuke’s honest opinion, the walk to the farm is one of the nicest ones out there. He knows he could easily use the truck to shuttle himself back and forth, but the trip is one of the best parts of his day, and he’s not willing to exchange it even for speed and efficiency. It seems to calm Atsumu down too, the dawn light breaking over the horizon like a beacon and the rice plants shifting in a breeze that’s just strong enough to be refreshing. Perfect weather for a harvest day, like always. 

“The weather’s real nice,” Even Atsumu seems to realise it, dragging his feet by the side of the road while he walks. “Those storm clouds cleared right up.” 

Shinsuke nods. “The weather is always good on harvest days.” He offers no further explanation, because even he doesn’t know much beyond his granny’s stories of omnipresent deities, who watch from the hilltops and favour those who exhibit diligence and reverence. The approval of such beings has never mattered much to Shinsuke- but if it means that he can enjoy the way the sky cracks open with golden light each morning, then he will give thanks with every meal he eats. 

Something is watching over him, as he steps amongst the golden fields and their incomprehensible whisperings fill the morning air. 

There’s only one field left to harvest- Agatsuma-san had gotten sick right at the end of the harvest season, and Shinsuke supposes that, with Atsumu’s help and a fair bit of hard work, they should be able to clear it by the end of the day. 

Days like this- with perfect weather, a view of the hills beyond and the knowledge that months of work will finally come to fruition- they always put Shinsuke in a good mood. So he turns to Atsumu, and finds that he can push all semblance of tension aside with a grin that errs on the side of mischievous. (Contrary to popular belief, he does know how to have  _ fun _ .)

“Hope you’re ready to work hard.” He says. The sun is breaking over the hilltops, and Atsumu’s competitive grin hasn’t changed in six whole years. 

It’s all too obvious that, while the linoleum court is Atsumu’s domain, the rice fields are Shinsuke’s. Atsumu is quickly relegated to lining freshly-cut rice plant bundles into rows, because Shinsuke has heard rumours of his driving abilities which are more than enough to put him off the idea of letting Atsumu loose with the heavy machinery. So Shinsuke works through the fields behind the machine, a hat pulled over his head to protect himself from the rising sunlight, and Atsumu follows close behind, letting out barely-concealed noises of displeasure every time a spider runs across his sleeves. 

Atsumu looks like he wants to say something as they settle to take a break, pulling his hat off and wiping away sweat with the back of his arm, but is quickly silenced by the flask of tea that Shinsuke pushes into his hands. While Shinsuke likes to be direct- beating around the bush is not a habit he’s fond of- he’d rather avoid a row with Atsumu over childishness and misplaced confessions that took place years ago. Such things can wait until there’s no work left to do. 

By lunchtime they have the field cleared, and Atsumu complains that his hands will be calloused to hell and back even through his gloves. He shirks the blame for any resulting bad tosses onto Osamu as he goes- ever bickering about one another even when they’re apart. They eat by the edge of the field, letting the rice plants dry under a sun that now nestles itself high in the sky, amidst the perfect weather for harvest season. Shinsuke claps his hands together once more- out of habit or thankfulness, he cannot tell- then feels a sudden rush of surprise as Atsumu mirrors his movements. 

It’s a rare moment of stillness, where Atsumu looks like he’s grown up exactly as much as he should have done- head bowed and his hair the colour of rice grains on harvest day. Not for the first time, Shinsuke has to remind himself why he said  _ no  _ all those years ago. 

Then Atsumu peaks one eye open, like a kid cheating at hide-and-seek, and takes a bite out of his lunch as if he can’t wait another second. Shinsuke follows slowly, because he doesn’t want to give himself indigestion.

Shinsuke announces that they should get back to work as soon they finish, just to stop Atsumu from settling against the earth as though he belongs there. 

Once the sun begins to set, Shinsuke stacks the last few bags of rice grain indoors to dry out over the next day. He’s confident in the knowledge that it won’t rain overnight and spoil them, but he’s unwilling to take any chances. As Shinsuke works, Atsumu perches on top of the pile like it’s an uneven throne, having almost put his back out trying to carry too many bags at once, much to Shinsuke’s chagrin. He’s still staring. (Atsumu is always staring.)

The walk back to the house feels longer, but more satisfying. The good feeling of a hard day’s work burns between the fibres of Shinsuke’s muscles- and from the placated smile on Atsumu’s face, he can tell that he must feel the same. The satisfaction is one of the reasons that Shinsuke has never regretted the path he took. It’s simple and it’s honest, the feeling of working tirelessly, piece by painstaking piece, and holding the result of his effort in his own two hands. 

“It’s like setting, kinda,” Atsumu muses, because his mind works solely in volleyball metaphors. “Ya build ‘em up from scratch, and then it’s the best feelin’ in the world when it all turns out.” 

In all honesty, the statement is a lot more mature than Shinsuke expected, volleyball imagery aside. Back in highschool, Atsumu liked the setter role because it was the flashiest, always basked in the glory of no-touch aces and fancy tricks of his own doing, orchestrating his players around the court in a way that was subtle, but omnipresent. Now, Shinsuke wonders if something has changed.

“I don’t get mad at my crops when they don’t yield good rice, though.” He lets the slightest hint of a smile tug at the corners of his voice, and Atsumu stops in his tracks in the middle of the road. 

“Hey- I don’t do that anymore!” When Shinsuke doesn’t respond, Atsumu jogs to stand right in front of him, frowning in that same indignant way he used to when scolded for overworking, or for getting riled up during practice. “I swear, my spikers love me- well,  _ Sho-kun _ loves me, at least, but he spent all of highschool working with Tobio-kun so maybe-”

“Atsumu.” Shinsuke cuts him off, because he can still recognise one of Atsumu’s tangents at the drop of a hat, and he’d quite like to get home in time to eat dinner within normal hours. 

But Atsumu’s hands drop back down by his sides, stopping in the middle of the road with the hills to his back and the dusk lowlight turning his shadow crooked. “You really do just see me as a stubborn kid, don’t ya?” 

Whether Shinsuke’s habit of speaking his mind is a positive or negative trait- that much is up for debate. On the one hand, cold logic was what kept his team running, what gave him the courage to drop out of a university course he didn’t enjoy, what led him to pursue something simpler, but something which allows him to watch the sun rise over the hilltops each morning all the same. On the other hand- Miya Atsumu stands in the middle of a road that gets used once a week at most, and stares at Shinsuke like he’s just broken his heart for the second time in six years.

It sticks to the roof of Shinsuke’s mouth, like a bad case of food poisoning. 

They’re back in the corner of the gym again, the day before graduation. Four feet apart and an eternity in-between. For someone who claims he has no need for memories- Atsumu seems to have a bad habit of repeating them.

“You’ve changed over time, I’m not gonna deny that.” Shinsuke replies.  _ But you’re still stubborn. You’re still unbalanced. You’re still a monster that hasn’t quite learned how to hide his teeth from view.  _

“There’s a _ ‘but’  _ there, I can feel it.” In a second, overwhelming display of self-awareness, Atsumu pushes on. One more serve, one more honest answer.

“But you’re still Miya Atsumu.” It’s an approximation of the truth at best, but it’s the most straightforward answer that Shinsuke can give. A car rolls down the road, kicking up the dust that’s settled upon its surface for a week since it was last used, and Atsumu only breaks eye-contact to move out of its way.

“If I was ‘Samu, would you date me then?” Atsumu appears to be acutely aware of how ridiculous the question sounds, but he still stares like he hasn’t eaten in days- like a monster that has stumbled into Shinsuke’s domain. Just as he himself once wandered into Atsumu’s. 

(Atsumu stares; shadow crooked, eyes bright. If the hills are a place where sleeping deities lie- then this must be where they come when they awaken.)

“No, I wouldn’t,” Shinsuke’s habit of speaking his mind is neither a good thing or a bad thing, but if nothing else, it’s effective. Atsumu doesn’t stop staring, but he doesn’t say another word either. Shinsuke fills the space for him. “I’m goin’ to visit the shrine in the forest tomorrow to give thanks for the harvest- you’re welcome to come if ya want.” 

Atsumu steps back into the centre of the road, and nods.

-

Shinsuke considers any day in which he can watch the sun both rise and set to be a good one. He sits on the back steps once more and watches both the sun and Atsumu, who jump-serves a volleyball across the back garden then runs to collect it before it can roll away into the flowerbeds. He’s still got energy left despite working in the fields all day, and Shinsuke will admit that he’s impressed by his perseverance. 

It’s expected of a monster like Atsumu, to be so single-mindedly dedicated to one thing.

“Kita-san,” Atsumu stands with his back to the sunset, wearing a veil of shadows across his face that does little to obscure his grin. “Hit some of my tosses?” 

And it’s no longer the vast expanse of the sunset sky that stretches beyond them- it’s the Inarizaki high gymnasium, with its vaulted ceiling and its scent of sweat and hard work. It’s Miya Atsumu, aged fifteen and a half years old, asking Shinsuke to hit his tosses, because he was the only one yet to go home for the night. Even now, Atsumu wears the same look- restrained, as if afraid of toeing at the line between junior and senior too closely, and at the same time, ravenous- to do more and aim higher at all costs.

Back then, Shinsuke had told him to pack up and go home, because he’ll be useless to the team if he overworks himself and gets sick. 

Now, he stretches out his legs, stands to face the sunset, and tells Atsumu that one or two couldn’t hurt. 

(Perhaps it’s foolish of him to assume that Atsumu is aware of his own limits now. Perhaps Shinsuke just wants to relive memories that neither of them believed they needed.)

Shinsuke hasn’t played in a long while, but the toss Atsumu sends across the garden is as easy to hit as ever, arcing in a neat parabola right into Shinsuke’s hands. And the rest is simply muscle memory, honed into his body through meticulous practice, and so interwoven that he never quite forgot it. A jump, feet tucked in just the right amount, the ball fitting neatly into the curve of his hand, and then a heavy wooden thud as it collides with the fence posts and sends them shuddering. 

Atsumu calls  _ nice kill  _ like he didn’t do more than half of the work himself, and Shinsuke lands with two feet firmly in the dirt- because though he was never an exceptional player, at the very least, he was always steady.

“One more?” Atsumu proposes, the ball already waiting in his palm.  _ Waiting _ , because Shinsuke has always been the one person he’s ever been willing to show a shred of patience for. (Still, Shinsuke doesn’t think he really has a choice in the matter.)

So- “one more.” he agrees.

“I missed setting for ya,” Atsumu admits later, once the sun has buried itself too far into the skyline for them to see their own feet through the dark. Sprawled out across the back step like the night before, he spins the volleyball between his hands with such ease that it seems more out of habit than a conscious movement. “You’re always so easy to toss to- no fuss or anythin’. You just hit whatever comes.”

“Overcomplicatin’ things never does any good,” Shinsuke explains. “If somethin’ works, it works- no matter the situation.” 

“There it is; Kita-san’s cold logic,” When Atsumu laughs, it’s a lot more fond than it should reasonably sound. Shinsuke feels as though he’s intruded upon something private. “Do ya not even miss it one bit?” He doesn’t ask Shinsuke to tell the truth- perhaps because he’s never needed to.

“I do,” There’s a moth flitting about the lamp over the doorway, caught in orbit as Shinsuke observes its flight paths. Round and round, never deviating. “The team was great, and I had fun. ‘Course I miss it.” 

Atsumu catches the ball with the ease expected of someone who has trained to do nothing else his entire life. “Why’d you give it up then?” He asks, like he’s seeking the answer to the secrets of the universe. Like he thinks Shinsuke holds them, somewhere in his work-worn hands.

“Just because you miss somethin’, that doesn’t mean you have to regret giving it up.” Shinsuke tells him, and hopes that Atsumu realises, somewhere along the way, that the words don’t just apply to volleyball. 

“There’s some things that I’d never give up, though.” Atsumu says. 

When Shinsuke turns his head, he finds that Atsumu is staring right into him.

-

The walk up to the shrine is a long one, but it’s a journey that Shinsuke is familiar with. He walks ahead, knowing exactly the route which the path carves into the side of the hills- a gentle incline, a fork around ten minutes in. Atsumu trails behind- because even though he’s a professional athlete, he’s also a stubborn jerk who doesn’t like to make things easy. It’s only once the treeline closes up behind them, and the forest envelopes them on either side, that his complaints about the warm weather and the early start cease altogether.

Shinsuke doesn’t blame him for falling silent in the slightest. 

The forest is an ancient place, with trees that skim the skyline with their branches and slope up the side of the hills like the ribcage of a sleeping giant. It’s a timeless land, where leaves whisper in long-dead languages overhead and even the birdsong falls silent- to speak out loud feels almost sacrilegious in nature. 

Shinsuke’s granny had stood on that same path many years ago, held tightly onto his tiny hand, and told him that this is a place where Gods roam. 

There’s an overgrown cobblestone path which leads through the trees, one which Shinsuke sticks to like a lifeline and hopes Atsumu has the clarity of mind to do the same. (While Shinsuke has been told many times over the course of his life that the Gods look down on him in favour, testing the patience of sleeping deities is not something he is willing to chance.)

Things shift amongst the undergrowth in the peripheries of his vision, but he knows better than to focus on them. The leaves drift in a breeze Shinsuke knows does not exist. The forest is alive in more ways than one, and even Shinsuke, who believes in little more than hard work and perseverance, cannot help but feel reverent towards each breath it heaves out of its ancient chest.

“Kita-san, I swear I just saw-” Atsumu speaks, sweat beading upon his forehead and his footsteps falling in the direct middle of the path like he’s afraid to step too far out on either side. Shinsuke hushes him, and tells him it must have just been the wind.

Then the Torii gate looms in shades of vermillion through the treeline, straddling the base of the crumbling stone staircase that forms the mouth of the shrine. It’s a grand structure, something not quite human left standing in a land made for Gods, and the path through it never stops feeling like a sacred journey- no matter how many times Shinsuke crosses it. 

As he passes through, Atsumu at his side, Shinsuke swears he sees one of the twin fox statues wink at him. 

-

Atsumu hijacks the truck’s sound system as Shinsuke drives the bags of rice grain to the mill in the nearest village. It’s clear that his music taste hasn’t shifted at all since highschool- nor has his tendency to sing along, incorrect lyrics and all. 

With a soundtrack of mid-2000s Taylor Swift songs, it’s a livelier journey than Shinsuke is used to. A change of pace, exactly as he had predicted when Atsumu first kicked off his shoes in the doorway then stood in the kitchen as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Atsumu trails his arm out of the window like a dog on a hot summer’s day- like he’s speeding down the highway rather than rolling at twenty miles an hour down a tiny countryside road. A city boy by nature, born into a sleepy town in the Hyōgo prefecture. 

Taylor Swift sings over the radio static, and Shinsuke thinks that he and Atsumu are as different as two people can be.

-

The sun has blazed high in the sky for two days on end, and the plants in Shinsuke’s garden look worse for wear, leaves twisting brown at the edges in the wilting heat of midday. 

And so he steps out onto the crumbling back steps, claps his hands together like he’s giving thanks for a meal, and wills it to rain. From the kitchen table, Atsumu stares in a way that would be more suited to a man starved- hungry and hollow and lined with teeth.

Later, Shinsuke checks the back of his neck for sunburn in the bathroom mirror.

-

There’s something tense and unspoken hanging through the rafters of the house the following morning. Shinsuke feels it upon his shoulders as soon as Atsumu walks into the kitchen, and so he busies himself with his usual routine. He’s eaten breakfast, he’s washed and changed into his clothes for the day, so now he wipes down the countertops, just as he does every morning. Everything, he does properly, diligently.

Everything aside from dealing with Miya Atsumu.

Atsumu evidently feels it too, by the way he announces that he’s going to take a walk. To keep out of Shinsuke’s way while he tidies up, he claims. He’s out of the front door before Shinsuke can advise him to take an umbrella.

Sure enough, as Shinsuke is sweeping down the steps at the back of the house, it begins to rain. Sure enough, mere seconds after the downpour starts, Atsumu is back on Shinsuke’s doorstep, harvest-gold hair barely even damp. He looks confused, ducking out of the rain and staring down at the hat grasped in his hand as though it had just grown a mouth and bitten him. 

“That was  _ so  _ damn weird,” He states, sitting down heavily on the back steps. Shinsuke sweeps the last of the dust away, and the rain falls just out of reach. “I only just got to the end of the road, and this massive gust of wind grabbed my hat and sent it flyin’ back towards the house. The moment I caught it, I was back outside the door and it started rainin’.”

The unspoken  _ thing  _ which hangs in the air begins to feel like a vast, waterlogged creature, curled between the walls and extending into the foundations below. 

Such things could be passed off easily as coincidence- a stroke of good luck, even. But the leaves of the trees don’t shift in the slightest, because it’s not a windy day. But there’s no such thing as luck or fate, because every single outcome in Shinsuke’s- and by extension, Atsumu’s- life is rooted in small actions that build up over time. They reap only what they sow.

The omnipresent deities of the hills and rice fields are watching over Shinsuke.

Now, they’re watching over Atsumu too.

-

Back in the hallways of Inarizaki High, Atsumu was diligent in volleyball alone. Even then, his diligence was reckless- a desire to do more and reach higher, until he skimmed the clouds with unstable fingertips and built himself up on foundations that were never made to last. Easily affected by noise, the weather, what he ate for breakfast that morning. (Dead silence when he serves, only the loudest of cheers when he scores. Sunny days with a touch of cloud are better than thunderstorms. If he doesn’t eat  _ something  _ with a high salt content, then he’ll be off his game all day). 

Little habits that Shinsuke picked up on over the years, folded into his memory alongside his teammates’ favourite foods, and the closing times of the local supermarket. 

In everything else, he was always as changeable as the weather- a new favourite videogame each week, one day declaring maths as his favourite class then announcing that it’s the worst the very next, developing a crush which Shinsuke knew would not last beyond graduation. 

Somewhere along the road, changeability has become adaptability- Shinsuke can see that now. While Atsumu hasn’t grown up in some ways (still childish, still fussy, still hiding claws behind those well-trimmed nails), he’s changed in a great many others.

Atsumu is diligent. In a different way to Shinsuke, but diligent all the same.

(Shinsuke wonders if  _ he’s _ the one who hasn’t changed, after all this time.)

“The Gods have a plan for you- you just can’t see what it is yet.” His granny tells him while he drops off a delivery of groceries by her door, once the rainclouds have cleared from the sky. 

A few metres away, Atsumu is leaning out the window of the truck. He ducks his head in some awkward attempt at a respectful bow, and his forehead almost collides with the edge of the roof as he straightens back up. Shinsuke’s granny sends a warm smile in his direction. Subtle, welcoming, knowing.

Shinsuke suspects that she thinks Atsumu must play some role in those plans that she spoke of. 

-

Shinsuke likes things stable. Atsumu runs through life at breakneck pace- a trainwreck in fast-motion. Atsumu makes him feel as though his bones are too big for his body. 

He’s not childish, Shinsuke has realised over the past few days. Just fast. Running ahead at a pace that Shinsuke has never desired to match, because he’s only human. He’s never felt the phrase  _ left in the dust  _ so strongly before. 

Atsumu washes his hands for sixteen seconds instead of twenty, because he doesn’t like multiples of five and he’s impatient down to his very bones. He sweeps the hallways too fast and leaves big, angry clouds of dust hanging in the air. He scarfs his dinner down and gives himself indigestion. 

_ Life in the fast lane _ , he groans when Shinsuke hands him an antacid and laughs under his breath.

Atsumu sort of believes in magic- how could he not, he tells Shinsuke, when there’s a forest like that one sitting right on his doorstep. When Shinsuke can stand on the crumbling stone steps around the back of his house and command the weather with a clap of his hands. (Except he doesn’t say any of it out loud, because such things were not made to be spoken about.)

It’s not magic or fate or even divine intervention in the traditional sense. It’s just diligence, hard work, and their inevitable results. 

It’s knowing that the traffic is going to be bad before he even steps out of the front door. It’s feeling the forest humming giant and dangerous and grand beneath his fingertips. Perhaps, it’s even Atsumu- stood at his door in a pair of white trainers and asking him  _ why did you say no?  _

Though not by fate or magic or divine intervention, Atsumu has indeed changed. Shinsuke has been lying to himself for six years straight. 

“I’ll head home tomorrow evenin’, if that’s alright with you.” Atsumu tells him once his indigestion has faded and he’s peeled himself up from the worn fabric of Shinsuke’s second-hand sofa. Shinsuke doesn’t have the heart to tell this stubborn not-just-a-boy that he’s already stayed longer than Osamu ever did. 

-

Shinsuke lights a bonfire in the field, because there’s crops to clear and the now-brittle stems of the rice plants to dispose of- plus it’s always nice to watch the flames dance and kick up embers into the sky. Some of the stems will burn, withered by heat as they feed the fire, and the rest will go to compost, ready to feed the next season’s crops. Carbon, returning to the land. Shinsuke likes the cycle of it all.

Atsumu found a pack of long-buried marshmallows in the kitchen cupboard, and his attempts to mash a molten one between a pair of crumbling biscuits ruin the ritualistic nature of it, to some extent. 

That unspoken, waterlogged beast still hangs in the air- great and impassive and constant- but the smoke seems to stave it off. Keeping it to the edge of the fireside like a prowling creature, waiting for the flames to sink to a low belly of embers. Shinsuke prods the fire with a stick, keeping it burning. 

“You want one?” Atsumu asks, with biscuit crumbs scattered down the front of his shirt and the bag of marshmallows at his side. Earnest, as if he has someone to impress. As if he doesn’t already have Shinsuke’s full attention. 

The fire cracks and throws strange shadows across the ground, warped impressions of hungry beasts and Atsumu with a marshmallow on a stick, pointed like a weapon in Shinsuke’s direction. Shinsuke tells Atsumu that he’ll pass on that one. 

The flames make Atsumu’s eyes look bright and ravenous, and his name sits under Shinsuke’s tongue like a boiled candy- sweet, and just as hard to swallow. He’s got his own questions, Shinsuke can tell, settled in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t voice them; neither of them do. Instead, Atsumu stares, wicked and hungry and sharp as a blade. A monster boy with will-o’-the-wisp eyes, tossing scraps of the harvest into the flames and coaxing them higher.

“Don’t provoke it.” Shinsuke cautions. He doesn’t know which he’s talking to- fire or monster.

“Why’d you say no, back then? Honestly.” Atsumu replies, and tosses another dry stalk into the flames- always stubborn, in every sense of the word.

Back then, Shinsuke had given him the simple answer. An approximation of the truth. You will get over it, you don’t yet know how big of a word  _ love  _ is, you are still Miya Atsumu. This time, Shinsuke tells him the honest answer. Or, at the very least, the answer he’s come to realise over time is the honest one.

“This isn’t what y’need right now, Atsumu.”  _ This  _ being the farm, the rice fields, watchful, steady Shinsuke and his watchful, steady life.  _ Atsumu  _ being service aces and indigestion and monsters in white gym shoes. 

“You really like to put words into my mouth, Kita-san.” Atsumu isn't looking at him, for once. 

-

They’re back on the crumbling stone steps, because that’s where most all-encompassing realisations occur. Atsumu looks like he’d be picking at a hangnail if he didn’t have to take immaculate care of his hands at all times, and Shinsuke thinks about all the weeds he could be pulling up from the flowerbeds. (None at all, because he pruned the garden yesterday and weeds don’t grow to full size overnight.)

They don’t say a word- Shinsuke may be no-nonsense and logical, but he’s still  _ human.  _ There’s still plenty of conversations he’d rather not have. This one goes on the list, alongside telling his mother that he’s dropping out of university, and informing his granny that he forgot to pick up the red bean paste that she asked for. 

“I never got over it,” Atsumu says, taking initiative. He’s definitely grown up. “You told me I would, but it never happened.” 

It’s a cloudy day, not quite sunny and not quite raining, and Shinsuke’s hair still smells like smoke from the bonfire even though he tried his hardest to scrub it clean. Atsumu always smells like fire, embers and something bright and dangerous, so it doesn’t seem to bother him. 

“I know,” Shinsuke replies. “I know that now.” 

“So,” Atsumu picks at a loose bit of concrete, sends it tumbling down the stairs and into the grass. “Why’d you say no?” 

There it is again- that heavy, terrible question. Shinsuke kind of wants to turn around and shut the back door in Atsumu’s face as punishment for his own steadfastness, but he’s an adult, and Atsumu is also an adult, so they have to talk about these things. Like adults. 

“I want you to look around, and tell me honestly that you’d be happy with sittin’ here for the rest of your life,” Shinsuke pauses, letting Atsumu mull over the silence. “You can’t, can you?” 

Atsumu sighs, and it sounds like an understanding. “And I’m guessing you wouldn’t be all that happy about uprooting and headin’ back to the city with me. Or about any of the long distance stuff for that matter.” 

Shinsuke nods, because there are the words he hadn’t wanted to say. Atsumu’s turn to put words in  _ his  _ mouth for a change.

“We each have our own sorts of diligence- they don’t line up exactly.” He explains. Atsumu is changeable in a way that almost makes it seem like a routine. Shinsuke wakes up and cleans the kitchen and visits his granny by the foot of the hills at the same time each day. Different. Similar. 

“What about later, though. In the future.” Atsumu persists. His shirt smells like a bonfire and his eyes are bright with hope to match. 

_ The future  _ is a concept that Shinsuke doesn’t think much about when plans for the next harvest aren’t concerned. “You’d want to wait?” He asks, because Atsumu used to show up to practice with his breakfast still halfway into his mouth, too impatient to sit at the table and eat. Now, he nods.

“I waited till now, didn’t I?” That grin- pointed canines and one tooth at the front with a chip punched out of it- it looks like highschool and harvest season and the grand, terrible secrets that live between the trees. It looks like Atsumu. 

“You did,” Shinsuke smiles, just a little- each word is becoming less like a _ conversation he doesn’t want to have,  _ and more like a  _ conversation he didn’t realise he needed to have _ . “But do you want to keep waiting? There’s no tellin’ how long it’ll be before you’re ready to settle somewhere.” There it is- that uncharacteristic fear of holding the monster named Miya Atsumu back. 

“This is what I want,” Atsumu tells him, and Shinsuke drowns in the certainty of it. “This is what I’ve always wanted.”

“Prove it to me, then.” The words feel like stirring up trouble, taking a leaf out of Atsumu’s book on how to be insufferable. He grins.

Atsumu stares at him as though he’s seen a god and that god shares Shinsuke’s name. 

“You’re makin’ me want to kiss you senseless right now, Kita-san.” Atsumu stares and stares and stares with eyes that look as though he’s been starved for days. 

“Then what are you waiting for?” Is all Shinsuke says, before he beats Atsumu to it. 

-

“Can I get some clear skies for the journey home?” Atsumu stands in the doorway with his slightly-less-white trainers and his bag thrown over his arm, packed with a volleyball and biscuits and all. Shinsuke would tell him that he shouldn’t pray for such frivolous things, but he has a feeling that he won’t need to. Not when the Gods are watching over Atsumu too.

They don’t kiss on the doorstep like a pair of lovers, because there’ll be ample time for that, one day. Now, Atsumu has a practice match scheduled with his team, Shinsuke has his granny’s latest cooking experiment to taste-test, and they both have an agreement to visit each other more often. Now, they’re just biding their time. 

Atsumu hops into the back of a taxi which drives off down a road that gets used once a week at most. As he goes, the clouds clear from the sky, and in their place hangs one giant, wonderful  _ maybe later. _

A promise that sits in the air and waits, diligently. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> comments make me cry tears of joy
> 
> twt: bee__calm  
> tumblr: bee-calm


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